Case Number 09748: Small Claims Court

Vincent

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All Rise...

Judge Bill Gibron always knew there was more to Leonard Nimoy than pointy ears and a strange interstellar peace sign. This amazing one-man show from 1981 was just the acting icing on the cake.

The Charge

Starry, starry night.

The Case

It's been a few days since the untimely passing of artist Vincent Van Gogh.
At 36, he had been a preacher, a painter, and, most significantly, a pauper. His
long-suffering brother Theo, having underwritten his sibling's many career paths
over the decades, is angry and upset by the word traveling around town. Everyone
from citizens on the street to fellow painters in the café claims that
Vincent died deranged, killed by his own hand in an act of suicidal insanity.
Calling together friends and family, peers and opponents, Theo hopes to set the
record straight once and for all. He wants to discuss his brother's devotion to
lost causes. He wants to clear the air about his medical (and mental)
conditions. He needs to show society that his seemingly directionless relative
was actually a man of great courage and masterful artistic skill, lost in the
arenas of love and life, but brilliant in capturing his "impressions"
of the world around him. From his earliest sketches to his final finished
masterpieces, Theo is convinced that his brother was easily ignored and
resoundingly ridiculed based on little more than rumor and innuendo. He plans to
show the reality behind the gossip. He wants them to understand his fragile
family member, Vincent.

It's easy to see why Leonard Nimoy and his most indelible, identifiable
characterization—Science Officer (Mr.) Spock from the seminal sci-fi
series Star Trek—were often at such personal and professional
loggerheads. Creating what is perhaps the most recognizable alien in television
history lead to a category of typecasting that's almost unheard of in today's
multimedia ideal. Though he had memorable turns in such big-screen fare as
Philip Kaufman's Invasion of the Body
Snatchers remake and found additional TV success in Mission
Impossible and the fan favorite In Search Of …, he was
consistently hemmed in by that beloved Vulcan. As if to confirm his desire to
distinguish himself from his incidental iconography, the title of his 1977
autobiography was a statement of single purpose: I Am Not Spock (in
truth, the book was an attempt to reconcile with the role, not to distance
himself from the character). Still, ever vigilant in his attempts to redefine
his creative career, Nimoy took to the stage. One of his most famous forays into
the world of greasepaint and curtain calls was a look at the life of one of the
world's most tortured artists. Reworking a previous one-man play called Van
Gogh by Phillip Stephens, Nimoy drew on over 500 letters between Vincent and
his brother Theo and devised his own solo showcase, incorporating art as well as
artifice to provide an evening of insight into a gifted, if haunted, master.

A true labor of love for its lead, Vincent is not actually the show
you think it is. Written and directed for the stage and starring the once and
future Trek titan, this brief but powerful presentation is part lecture,
part impassioned plea, and all acting acumen. Nimoy gives what amounts to a true
tour de force performance here, channeling the more famous Van Gogh while giving
the main narrative elements to frequently forgotten brother Theo. In fact, this
is really less of a biography and more of a meditation on the meaning of art and
artistry in a world that measures success by sales. Even though we are dealing
in an era where painters could practice their craft and still be viewed as
viable, Theo makes it very clear that Vincent's various mental and physical
failings (he was originally thought mad, though he was later diagnosed with
epilepsy and, perhaps, schizophrenia) created a much harsher benchmark for his
brother to reach. Indeed, because of the magnificence of his work, because of
the boundaries he pushed as an impressionist and as a colorist, Vincent was
viewed as strange and different. In Nimoy's view, this translated into a kind of
communal freakdom. Vincent Van Gogh was viewed as the oddball, the outcast who
would prefer to chase coal miners down the shaft, delivering sermons on the
Gospel in evangelical fury, rather than conform to the typical mandates of a
career artisan.

Selling this previously unheard of historical position (this is 1981,
remember) would require a talent equal to that of the subject. Yet this is
exactly where Vincent shines. Anyone who ever doubted Nimoy's chops, who
thought him a one-note thespian locked in "live long and prosper" mode
needs to see this terrific turn post-haste. Using his typical basso voice to
bring both brothers to life, Nimoy employs the slightest hint of harshness to
Vincent's brogue to divide the dynamic. Yet even if he projected in the same
strong manner for both men, his acute actor's ability would make the
differentiation easy. When he embodies Theo, Nimoy makes it very clear that this
lowly art dealer is not much for public speaking. Sure, his comments are
commanding, but the body language associated with them is all closed off and
tense. But the minute he picks up a letter from Vincent, reading aloud the
artist's own words, Nimoy changes his pose. He becomes more open and animated,
shaking his fists and prowling the stage like a caged animal. In these moments,
the play seems more rant than realistic, but Nimoy knows that nuance cannot be
achieved with scenery chewing alone. Indeed, several times throughout the course
of the story, images of Van Gogh's work are matched with beautiful classical
music, allowing the actor a chance to rest and reflect. There is also a pair of
emotionally charged moments when tears well up in Nimoy's eyes. Instead of
accenting this showing of sadness with another speech, he just lets the weary
waters flow.

In fact, nothing about Vincent feels forced or undeserved. This is a
very funny play, with lots of witty asides and caustic rejoinders cast out on
famed friends like Toulouse-Lautrec and Paul Gauguin. Nimoy knows how to play to
an audience and he does so brilliantly here. Alas, he's still a TV-trained
performer and can't help but look to the camera every once in a while. Still,
such insignificant instances do not spoil the staging and we frequently find
ourselves lost in the amazing landscapes and haunting words that, together,
frame a gifted, troubled spirit. Some may find the In Search Of
…-style ending, with filmed material used as a follow-up on some of
the questions and concerns the play raises, a little strange, but frankly it
feels like a necessity. It allows Nimoy to add his own thoughts on the subject,
while bringing some kind of closure to the entire Van Gogh mythology.

A must for any lover or art, as well as fans of their favorite interstellar
icon, the DVD version of Vincent definitely deserves a look. Thanks to an
impressive transfer, Image makes the presentation and packaging all the more
inviting. The 1.33:1 full-screen transfer is truly impressive. The lack of
old-school analogy issues—video flaring, bleeding, "greening,"
and ghosting—is commendable and the Dolby Digital Mono mix is moody and
subtle. Image even throws in a pair of excellent supplements to increase our
enjoyment of the production. First up is a full-length audio commentary
featuring a proud and determined Nimoy. Hitting all the highlights of
Vincent's creation—from the research to the touring, this is an
excellent (if occasionally dry) alternate narrative. Next we have a decidedly
different way of viewing the play. Seen behind Nimoy throughout the production
is a slide show that illustrates many of the points being made onstage.
Unfortunately, the slides are occasionally difficult to distinguish. But here,
Image allows the visual presentation its own place on the DVD. This means you
can listen to the entire show while viewing only the slides. Believe it or not,
it's still an amazingly moving experience. Add in a booklet offering a breakdown
of Van Gogh history and you've got a well prepared digital product.

It's important to note that, after the fan backlash over his first
autobiography (and more importantly, its title) Nimoy penned a second memoir,
clearing the air once and for all. Entitled I Am Spock, the work showed
the actor seeming to come to terms with his celebrity symbolism once and for
all. Frankly, all he really needed was wider exposure for his work in
Vincent. If anything could balance out the seemingly set impression of
Nimoy as an extraterrestrial, it would be this very real, very human one-man
extravaganza.